Funny Games
by HappinessIsaWarmSociopath
Summary: "Janine managed it once. She makes the funniest noises." Janine's role in HLV with Magnussen, Mary and the tiniest hint of Johnlock and MorMor if you squint.


**A/N: This is my first one-shot and my first character study. So be gentle please. I was re-watching His Last Vow and I couldn't help but be fascinated by Janine. She's an interesting female character, and we probably won't be seeing her again. It's really a shame, so I wrote up this little story to add a bit to her role. Enjoy, read and review, and maybe check out my other story, Memoir? It would bring me more joy than a gift-wrapped Benedict Cumberbatch. Well, maybe not quite that much. But still, feel free to go ahead and give it a look. All positive and negative feedback welcome.**

**Warnings for implied sexual harassment and the tiniest hint of Johnlock and MorMor if you squint.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. Don't sue.**

**Funny Sounds**

"Positively luscious," he said when he first laid eyes on her. "Your brother would be proud."

Those last five words were what entangled her. Janine had been so sure no one knew. Her eyes were lighter, her skin glowed darker, and any resemblance her own rich alto held to his Irish brogue was purely coincidental as far as she was concerned. But this dead-eyed predator had extracted her fear and her relief, and molded them together until Janine wasn't sure which was which. He took her apart and put her back together again under his terms until she was saturated with him—His sweat, his saliva, his semen. Sometimes Janine felt his fluid, swift markings were the only things keeping her stitched together. She wanted to cry at those times, but instead she bought herself another dress—This one in a rich cobalt tailored to her every curve and crevice—And picked up the phone again and again, made his appointments, maintained his connections. She made herself useful. If he owned her, he had to need her. Janine needed to be indispensible to someone. She had so little left.

"So little, so little," Magnussen said when he flicked her for the first time. "Little girl lost. Your eyes are lovelier with tears in them. We'll have to do this more often." Her squeaks became a moan when his fingernail scraped her cornea. It was an obscene noise, dangerously close to erotic, and Magnussen smiled slimily at the sound. He brought the perpetrating finger to his mouth and suckled. A second later, the moisture came into contact with the swell of her lips. She could feel his pulse a centimeter from her teeth, and the smell of him lingered in the snail trail of saliva his finger left behind.

"You can breathe now. When you lick those lips, I'll be inside of you," Magnussen said pleasantly. To her credit, Janine only vomited a little when he finally left. She cleaned up the mess herself.

If meeting Mary had been a breath of fresh air, then Sherlock was the East Wind itself. He whipped through her and stripped her clean. She wasn't the little girl tagging alongside her big brother and his gentle blonde boyfriend at the pool again, but at least she was purged of Magnussen for a little while. She was a blank slate, and she would have been happy to let Sherlock mold her and change him a little herself in return.

"Janine," he had said over the phone not a week after the wedding. His voice was a study in hesitance, and she was charmed. It had been a long time since anyone had gifted her with caution. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?"

They sat at Speedy's and munched cinnamon biscuits while they chatted. Sherlock told her that the cashier was carrying on an affair with her married neuroscience professor and that the young man sitting behind them was partial to dark hair.

"Oh?" Janine asked, smiling at him coyly. "And what are you partial to, Mr. Holmes?"

"At the moment, you," Sherlock said with a lopsided little grin that somehow seemed more honest than his previous flashings of lip and teeth. The next night, he took her out for fish and chips, where the owner gave them both extra portions. The night after that, he took her home with him, and his eyes shined with a feeling she couldn't place when she kissed him chastely. She pulled away, sighing with the knowledge that it was still only make-believe.

"Just sleep then," she said, and Sherlock smiled his relief. It was a beautiful expression. Janine was surprised to find herself content with just watching him. Sherlock's features relaxed completely when he finally gave himself over to the dreamworld, and she felt like she'd been blessed with something she didn't deserve. She kissed him awake that morning and many mornings after that. The taste of Mangussen diminished further with each, and when Janine stumbled upon a newlywed John Watson in the kitchen one morning, she felt more complete than she had in years.

Ironically enough, it was the proposal itself that told her something wasn't right. Janine had spent far too many nights watching Sherlock sleep to be fooled by the joy forced into his eyes. She knew what he looked like when he was at peace with the world. Now, those green-grey-blue eyes belonged behind wire-framed spectacles as far as she was concerned. She felt like vomiting again. Instead, Janine smiled and clapped her hands as expected, and buzzed him through. It was a small consolation that Sherlock never got the chance to tell her he didn't give two shits about her. Less comforting was Mary's getting there first.

"I'm sorry," she said sadly before plunging the needle into Janine's perfumed neck. Janine didn't spend her last few seconds of consciousness angry at the woman she'd thought was her friend. She thought of her brother instead, remembered the way his black eyes always crinkled at the corners when he looked at her.

Mary was the one to break the news that Sherlock didn't really want to marry her once she regained consciousness. She seemed apologetic enough, and Janine kept a silent promise to forgive her one day. Maybe, when Mary's daughter was born, she would name Janine godmother. She deserved it. She had been a good friend. Janine wrapped her promise around her for protection before contacting the papers. It took more effort finding the courage to walk into the hospital room, so she disconnected Sherlock's morphine drip. He was far easier to handle when he was suffering.

"You shouldn't have lied to me, Sherl. We could have been friends," she said before taking leave of him forever, not really believing it herself. She wasn't John Watson, and she wasn't good enough for Sherlock Holmes. When she kissed him goodbye, he tasted like Magnussen, and Janine knew she had somehow lost the battle yet again.

Sherlock Holmes, the man who could have been her savior, only got around to the task when she no longer belonged to him. Mary was the one who called to tell her that Sherlock had shot Charles Augustus Magnussen in the head at approximately 7:30 p.m. on Christmas Day. Mary apologized again, and Janine went right ahead and offered her forgiveness.

"Take care of your little girl," she said before hanging up the line, breathing in pine, peppermint, and a healthy dose of righteousness. Her lips felt clean for the first time in months. Janine picked up her cell and dialed, staring out the window at the beehives she had yet to remove. Her brother picked up immediately.

"Well. Isn't this a surprise. It really must be Christmas. How goes it, little sister?" There it was. A teasing invitation, just a hint of danger lurking beneath the Westwood and Irish charm.

"Jimmy," she said before she could lose her nerve. "I need your help. Sherlock Holmes—He's being sent abroad. On an M16 mission. He's supposed to last six months at the very most."

"Tsk, tsk, little sis," he sang teasingly. "Aren't you even going to ask me how I've been first? I've missed you. Did you miss me?"

**A/N: Click that little button and make my day! And please check out and review my other story, if you have the time. Happy Easter, folks! **


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